


some and now none of you

by Goldmonger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brother Feels, Episode Tag, Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Multi, Separation Anxiety, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, of the highest degree, there's no guidebook for coping with your brother's 113th death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldmonger/pseuds/Goldmonger
Summary: This pain is not something that will go away. This is a wound that will bleed for his entire life.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 62





	some and now none of you

**Author's Note:**

> \- The finale broke me. Broke me into a million pieces. Winchester boys, I'm so, so proud of you, and so happy you're at peace. x
> 
> \- Title is from Lord Huron's 'The Night We Met', which was the SPN production's song of the week for the finale. Yes, it still hurts.

_“Aren't all these notes the senseless writings of a man who won't accept the fact that there is nothing we can do with suffering except to suffer it?”_

_― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed_

*

The barfight is brief. It’s so brief, in fact, that the guy who lays him out looks guilty about it.

“You shouldn’t have hit me, man,” says the guy, barrel-chested and tall, his lip swollen where Sam’s knuckles made contact. “What the hell was it even for?”

His buddies have already taken their kicks, so they merely snort in disapproval, turning to placate the bartender; he’s standing behind the counter and is in the process of reaching below it. He hasn’t produced the probable 12-gauge yet, since the fight lasted all of ten seconds, but it’s only a matter of time. The scuffling is ruining the tailgate atmosphere of this place. It’s new. Young. The refuge of college kids and fantasy football teams. Everyone who drinks here is supposed to be red-cheeked and lazily giddy on gallons of cheap beer.

“Sorry,” says Sam, from the floor. He tongues around his mouth and finds a loose tooth. A canine. He sits up, ignoring the throbbing all over his body, and spits it into his palm. Blood and saliva drip through his unsteady fingers.

The big guy looming over him is still watching him oddly, ignoring the muttered urgings of his friends. _Leave it,_ Sam hears. _He’s not worth it. Don’t let him ruin the night._

The big guy crouches, ducks his head to see into the shadowed hollows of Sam’s face. “Dude,” he says, brows contracting over deep-set eyes, his skin unlined. He’s young. Everybody in this bar is so, absurdly young. “Dude, do you need help, or something?”

“I’m better now,” Sam says, sensing warmth on his upper lip, trickling down his jaw, his neck. “Thank you.”

The big guy is still staring at him. He starts to say something, then stops himself. Music and chatter washes around them, unhindered, and the guy finally stands, walks back to his friends. His people.

Sam doesn’t take another moment. He gets up, unaided, staggering a little on the way to the door. His head aches, which isn’t unusual. He feels short of breath, which has also become routine. His vision swims. He imagines a hand, reaching out, and grabs blindly at the space beside him; outside, people cross the street to avoid his wandering arms.

*

The demon appraises him nervously, keeping several yards between them.

“She hasn’t changed her mind,” the demon tells him, his throat bobbing. “Her Highness has decreed –,”

“Bullshit,” says Sam. His eyes burn. He hasn’t slept for two days, maybe three. Lucifer had reminded him, once, of the length of time a human body could operate without rest. He hadn’t paid much attention, back then. He’d been working too hard to deny the reality of what was happening to him.

“Please,” the demon says, a faint nasal whine to his voice. “Please, the queen makes the rules, I’m just -,”

Sam strides towards him, boot treads grinding harshly in the quiet of the darkened crossroads. The demon whimpers and opens his mouth, and Sam snarls in wordless fury.

“ _Et secta diabolica_ ,” he spits, and the demon writhes, its smoke worming back down its squat vessel’s throat. “ _Omnis congregatio, omnis legio, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis spiritus, exorcizamus_. Stay right where you are, prick.”

The demon is disoriented, stumbling. Sam has him at knifepoint in seconds, the front of an immaculate suit bunched in Sam’s fist. He leaves an imprint of soil, soft as grave dirt.

“Tell Rowena I want to talk,” Sam says, dangerously calm. “I have an opportunity for her.”

The demon’s lip quivers, a sickening mockery of the man trapped inside. Sam’s muscles creak at the effort of restraining a beating that would leave that face nothing but pulp.

“Her official statement,” the demon says faintly, “is that your soul cannot – cannot be priced. Her Highness has declared several t-times that this is one t-treasure she will not s-steal.”

Sam pushes the knife an inch into the demon’s jowls, tears stinging in his frustration, in the panic making that’s making his chest seize.

“Rowena takes what she wants,” he hisses, baldly desperate. “And I’m telling her she can have me. In return –,”

“Her Highness also said,” the demon squeaks, plainly terrified to have interrupted him, “that her refusal is a gift.”

“Oh,” Sam says viciously, taking the demon by its hair, nudging the knife towards high-pitched vocal chords. “Is that right?”

“She said that it is a parting gift,” breathes the demon. “For Dean Winchester.”

Sam’s brain stutters to a halt. He’s frozen for so long that the demon is able to slide out of his grasp, retreating down the road on which he’d first appeared.

“She also said she’s sorry,” the demon adds hurriedly. “For your loss, I mean.”

The knife slips to the ground. Blood speckles the tiny stones, black under a midnight sky. Sam knows that below all that blood is a box, with herbs and bones and Sam’s pallid photograph. It’s the second time he’s tried to reverse a mistake by offering himself up. It’s the second time he’s failed.

When he looks up again, he’s alone.

*

Alex sews him up while Jody supervises. Sam’s not sure if she doubts Alex’s nursing abilities or Sam’s word that he’ll stay still, but he’s sure not bold enough to ask.

He watches the stitches go in, neat and colourless, hospital grade material that Alex had swiped from work to add to Jody’s first aid stash. Hunters with all manner of wounds pass through her place frequently, and she's always ready to dole out help as needed, in whatever form. She and her girls are prepared. Competent. They wouldn’t let someone die right in front of them while they looked on, useless.

“Done,” Alex murmurs, and Sam thanks her absently. Jody won’t drop her gaze, not when Alex wraps him in bandages, not when she packs up, not when Sam rises in a half-daze.

“Wait,” she says, sounding strained. “Just – stop, all right?”

He hovers between the sofa and the television. He can’t leave without bodily removing Jody from his path, and he doesn’t want to do that. He owes her for the medical supplies she’d expended on him. It would be rude.

“Motel’s not far. I can hole up there until this heals.” He hefts his bum arm.

Jody lifts her hands as though she wants to take his face and squeeze it, but she just wrings them. “Sam, I don’t think you should be by yourself right now.”

“I can drive.”

“You know what I mean.”

Sam stares at her. “I told you. It was an accident.”

“You did.” Jody’s eyes glisten. “But – Sam, you know that you can talk to me, or – you know, if you need someone to listen –,”

“Thanks, Jody,” Sam says curtly. “But I’m fine.”

He tries to edge past her, but she’s too quick, deftly taking his injured arm. She’s careful with it, having seen the gash, almost a foot long. She’d also seen the silvered scars underneath, which stretched from his wrist to the crook of his arm, and he knows that’s why she’s doing this, now. It’s misplaced concern. None of those prior cuts had been deep enough to bleed him. They could have been, he knows that for a fact. But they weren’t.

“Sam, you really should stay here.”

“I do just fine on my own.”

Jody’s cheeks are wet. “You know that your brother would be out of his mind, if he saw –,”

Sam snatches his arm back, the sharp twinge of the motion barely registering.

“But he can’t see it,” says Sam, icily. “Can he?”

The Impala roars away from Jody’s house in a whirl of dust and grit. Sam doesn’t look in the rear-view, doesn’t want to see more tears. He drives until he almost falls asleep at the wheel, then pulls into an empty parking lot. It’s pitch black outside the car, pitch black within it. He flicks on a Bob Seger album, and after a few bars flicks it off again.

He lies flat on the seat, his head on the driver’s side. He thinks about never being able to drive far enough, and then he thinks about blades as vehicles. _You could take me where I need to go._

When he opens his eyes again, after who knows how long, he sees the glitter of stars. He sees an old stain on the ceiling of the car, where a ketchup-covered French fry had been thrown from the back seat to the front, accompanied by accusations of sock theft. Laughter rings in his ears.

“Fuck you,” he whispers, recalling centuries of intermittent separation, always, _always_ temporary. “Fuck you for making me go last.”

*

_“You have one old voice message. To play this message, please press ‘one’.”_

**BEEP**

_“Hey, Sammy. The burgers are nearly done – what’s the hold up? Don’t make me start the movie without you. Call me back.”_

_“Hey, Sammy. The burgers are nearly done – what’s the hold up? Don’t make me start the movie without you. Call me back.”_

_“Hey, Sammy. The burgers are nearly done – what’s the hold up? Don’t make me start the movie without you. Call me back.”_

_“Hey, Sammy. The burgers are nearly done – what’s the hold up? Don’t make me start the movie without you. Call me back.”_

_“Hey, Sammy. The burgers are nearly done – what’s the hold up? Don’t make me start the movie without you. Call me back.”_

_“Hey, Sammy. The burgers are nearly done – what’s the hold up? Don’t make me start the movie without you. Call me back.”_

_“Hey, Sammy. The burgers are nearly done – what’s the hold up? Don’t make me start the movie without you. Call me back.”_

_“Hey, Sammy. The burgers are nearly done – what’s the hold up? Don’t make me start the movie without you. Call me back.”_

_“Hey, Sammy. The burgers are nearly done – what’s the hold up? Don’t make me start the movie without you. Call me back.”_

_“Hey, Sammy. The burgers are nearly done – what’s the hold up? Don’t make me start the movie without you. Call me back.”_

_“You have one old voice message. To play this message, please press ‘one’. To delete this message, pl -,”_

**BEEP**

_“Hey, Sammy…”_

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my [tumblr](https://ronon-dex.tumblr.com/), if you would like to see endless gifs of the brothers hugging


End file.
